


Come For You

by larkingstock



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fuck Or Die, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Sex Pollen, a few detours into Hurt/Comfort because sure fine, and also Slow Burn now I guess ??, and sprinkle on some Character Study why not, hey look actual sex yay, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-09 02:52:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkingstock/pseuds/larkingstock
Summary: Pretty much what the tags say. (I'm so sorry. I wanted it, I wrote it, and if I can figure out the rest I'm probably going to write that too.)(Also so so sorry for the title.)





	1. Standing There With Nothing On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that there's chapter titles, this one's from Electric Feel, and more specifically Tash Sultana's [cover](https://youtu.be/oeKs0YJlSTs?t=5s) of it, because _damnnnn_.

"Frank. Frank, wake up. Wake up? Wake up, please, please."

_Karen_.

It's Karen with fear in her voice and it punches him into consciousness, bright and hard. He's reaching for her even before he hears her gasp and then he's recoiling, blinking, horrified at the sense-imprint of soft bare skin on his palm, she's naked. _Karen's naked_ , and afraid, and everyone's going to _FUCKING DIE_.

Going for his hip and belatedly realizing that he's naked, too, does not change the sentiment in the slightest. It does rearrange the parameters slightly, however, and he takes a second to roll up onto his knees and scan the room, and wipe the snarl from his face before he looks at her again.

Half-looks, because she's naked.

"Karen," he tries, softly, but it comes out just a crackle of sound and he's already looking away again. He doesn't know how to give her comfort, here, whether to turn to her or away.

"Oh thank God," she says, and it shouldn't be possible for even a voice to be luminous, but hers is, already losing that shakiness. Her fingers dart, then retreat, an abortive touch on his arm. "I thought..." She takes a deep breath.

"Are you okay?" He's taking another look around him, even though the small cell they're in barely warranted a first. Dingy, bare, no windows, no obvious doors, a thin pallet against one wall, and in the middle of it the golden glow of Karen Page in the harsh overhead light, already seared into his head. It's a beat past when she should have answered and his head whips, adrenaline-quick, and he jerks it back just as fast before it can even get her in his peripheral. "Karen?"

"Frank." It's just slightly dry, and he knows that if he could look at her, there'd be a tiny smile on her face. He knows she's terrified, and he also knows that she's smiling, even if just a little. His wife was one in a million and he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to have married her, but Karen? Karen might just be the most incredible woman he's ever known. "No," she says, steadily, reassurance even as she states the obvious, "I am _not_ okay. But I'm not hurt."

He nods, both for the stupidity of the question and his need to ask it anyway--"Yeah. Okay."--and feels her hand, deliberately this time, land on his shoulder.

It's some animal, primal thing that makes him go still, all the way through. His jaw works but he can't push past it, no matter how much he doesn't want to be soothed like this. It's not what she can do to him with a simple touch, he's made his peace with that, or even some bullshit about needing to keep his guard up in hostile territory, it's that there's something fundamentally wrong in accepting it from her when she's so naked and vulnerable.

He starts to pull himself together, to speak, to move, do _something_ that's not falling into her touch, her very presence, when a staccato hiss whistles through the room from above.

"What--"

"Get low!" he snaps, ducking down, heartbeat pounding in time to the chant of _gas gas gas gas_ running through his head.

It's all reflexive, useless really, as his eyes search the ceiling for some kind of sign of what they're dealing with. It's almost a relief when, a second later, a tinny voice says, " _Don't bother._ "

"Who are you?" he roars, and he's on his feet, caution be damned, slamming his hands against the nearest wall. It's very solid. "WHO ARE YOU?"

" _Whoa, steady there, Frank. Be easy. Believe me when I tell you, you don't want to get worked up right now._ "

There's a prickle in his lungs and ice-cold fear down his spine. He locks it all down, but the voice is already speaking again.

" _This is not about who I am. It's not even about who you are._ " The voice pauses just long enough for the meaning to sink in, and Frank cannot keep from turning.

Karen's eyes are very, very blue, and very very wide. They're fixed on him, and God help him, he can't look away. "Oh, believe me, asshole," he says, very nearly evenly. "It is now."

She's trembling, and in a very steady, non-worked up manner, Frank makes himself a promise that he is going to rip this fucker limb from limb. "What is this? What have you done to us?" she asks, the low tone of anger riding herd on all the other emotions in her voice, filling him with pride.

"Atta girl," he murmurs. Out loud. He blinks, but the voice continues as if it didn't notice.

" _You've received a moderate dose of a disinhibiting agent. Additional doses will be administered at intervals of fifteen minutes, which has been found to achieve greatest increase in potency._ " The voice pauses again and Frank can feel the blood draining from his face. " _How's that rage of yours doing, Frank? Adrenaline building, frustration, bloodlust pulsing, feeding and feeding on itself, all that violence in you needing an outlet...What do you imagine happens to someone who's trapped in a small confined space with you, when you can no longer keep it all under control?_ "

His mouth is open, he's licking dry lips, shaking his head. "Karen," he whispers, hoarse with fear.

Her eyes haven't left his once. She, the insane woman, seems even less scared than before, eyes sparking with even more anger. "So that's it?" she asks, beautiful with contempt. "You're going to drug the Punisher into killing me? That is the most--"

" _That's one option, certainly. The least interesting to any of us, to be honest with you, and presumably the least attractive to you. For example, he could try to knock himself out--_ "

Karen sucks in a breath when she reads his expression, the dose already making it all too easy to see that's exactly what he'd been thinking. She scrambles to her feet, shedding whatever modesty had been preserved by staying on the ground, and placing herself in his way with a bullish set to her red, red mouth. Naked Karen Page, standing tall and staring him down, looking like an angel carved from gold and marble and the light of divine retribution, and he couldn't drag his eyes away if his life depended on it.

Somewhere, the voice is talking, still. " _...and the mix with concussions had some truly unpredictable and...grisly results. I don't recommend it. No, what's been found most effective, though still limited, to mitigate responses in these kinds of situations is, unsurprisingly, the endorphin hormones released in the sex act..._ "

In one frozen moment his brain flashes to the pallet on the floor, and then he's spinning to the wall behind him, bracing his hands and trying to do the math on one good solid blow. All of which shatters under Karen's _shriek_ of his name, and then, oh God, her body is crowded to his left side, her arm wrapped across his chest, holding him back with all her negligible strength.

" _...should be possible to remain relatively calm with repeated..._ "

Her breast is plastered against his shoulderblade. It's so soft. He's got nothing left when he raises his head and meets her eyes above his arm, his lungs heaving.

"I'm so sorry, Frank, I'm so sorry," she's been saying, horror and concern all over her face, "but please, please don't--don't leave me. Don't leave me here, don't leave me," and he's already shaking his head, he won't. He _won't_ , already ashamed that he'd have left her in this alone, unprotected. It's so hard to _think_. "You won't hurt me," she whispers, her hold around him tightening. There's so much faith in her eyes as they search his. "I _know_ you won't. _Never_ , Frank. Please."

He _won't_. Never. He feels the panic settle, a little. _That_ panic, anyway. He draws a deep breath. "This is not your fault," and he wraps his hand around his cock, unable to stifle all of the moan, unable to stop looking deep into her eyes like he's drinking from her as he begins stroking. Her eyes widen, then darken, her warm, silken body pressing closer down the length of his. He can smell her, her perfume, her skin, enveloping him. It's agony. He wets his lips and her tongue licks out to wet her own, and he groans, his fist squeezing, moving faster.

"...here because of me--" she's mumbling, miserable, he can't fucking stand it, he's fucking _growling_ at it.

"This is _not_ your fault, you hear me? You hear me?"

He'll yell it to the end of time if he has to, but she's just as helpless as he is, those big blue eyes holding onto his as she nods. Believing him. Trusting him. "Yes," she breathes, "yes." Her hand slips lower from his chest, and he can tell it wasn't on purpose when contact makes his abdominals pull tight and she gasps, clutching her fingertips into him as if to anchor against drifting further but it's already too much, she's still breathing _yes, yes_ , color high in her cheeks and looking right into him and he loses his fucking mind.

His whole body bows as he comes and maybe the world goes black or maybe he's just squashed his eyes shut, his own strangled grunt embarrassingly loud in his ears.

He's got his head down and he's keeping his eyes shut, he cannot risk looking at Karen yet, but the voice is right, he's calmer, he's getting his brain back a little. He's trying to cool his breathing, he was a US Marine Scout Sniper, for fuck's sake he should be able to manage that much. But her face is so close to his arm he can feel every little pant escaping her body, she's half wrapped around him and instead his training's got his body automatically syncing up with hers, no matter that it's all too fast, too heady.

He has to redirect his focus, and that fucking voice is _still_ talking. " _...hold out, it sounds like you have things in hand. Your friend should be here in three, maybe four hours and I'd like to be long gone when he is, so I'll leave you to it._ "

Frank makes the mistake of looking up, the instinct to see Karen's take on those final words, so he gets a front-row seat to her slowly bringing her fingers up, the _look_ in her eyes at the drops of his semen on her, and oh fuck, oh fuck, he's wrecked even before she opens her red mouth and puts her red tongue to the white on her pale fingers, hot drunken electric blue eyes sweeping back up to his as she sucks his taste into herself.


	2. Anyways Here's Wonderwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be real honest here, I _want_ this a whole lot more than I actually know what I'm doing? and this is all just kind of happening when and how it's happening. It's just gonna be that kind of fic, guys, sorry. I guarantee nothing. But since the next bit has somehow, well, happened, here ya go and enjoy.
> 
> ...Also, chapter titles are of not much significance besides being something I'm listening to writing this or something that amuses me. Probably both. (And speaking of covers of Wonderwall, [Ryan Adams'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gVxRvNfFLg) sure as shit ain't bad.)

"Karen, _Jesus_." He's able to hold out for maybe two seconds and then he's got her face in his hands, he's kissing her, she's opening so sweetly for him and his first taste of her is painted with the salt of his own come, Jesus _God_. He pushes his tongue deeper, he can feel her hands, desperate, fluttering over his waist, his back, pulling herself flush to him, straining up against him. He crowds her back against the wall, gives her the pressure she's looking for and she sobs into his mouth. He can feel her thighs squeeze together, hips squirming, but it isn't until he finally registers that her hand has worked its way between their bodies that it hits him, he's so much stronger than she is, what the fuck is he doing, she might be struggling to push him away--

He breaks away and she cries out, her free hand following him, the other...

Between her legs, rubbing, _shiny_. He nearly falls to his knees right there.

But she's sobbing his name and when he can lift his eyes she's turned her face away, pink-cheeked, eyes pinched shut. "Kiss me, please--Frank--keep--"

And he wants to, oh God does he want to. He takes half a step toward her, but--"Karen. Can I." It's hardly even a whisper. Her fingers are getting more frantic, and he can see, he can _tell_ , less effective. He's swallowing like a maniac like it'll help. "Can I--can I..."

She finally looks at him, sees where his eyes are fixed, and this woman, this woman, this beautiful incredible woman parts her legs to him and moans, " _Please_."

Frank goes to his knees like it's the easiest thing in the world because it is, because it puts his face, his mouth, right _there_. He closes his eyes and inhales, all that sweetness, rubbing his nose into the tender scratch of her blonde hairs. He's got his hands on her hips, containing their impatient movements, "Shh," against her, and "shh, shhh" again, raising his eyes up the long expanse of her blushing body until they catch on hers, willing her to let him. He needs this, selfish prick that he is, he can't have his face between Karen's thighs in this moment and not press a soft kiss and another to her mound for it, not give this worship to what she's giving him.

But Karen isn't fighting him on it, she only closes her eyes and sighs, gentling in his hold, letting him pull one of her legs up, over his shoulder, trusting him to keep her steady. Trusting him to give her what she wants. He can hear someone talking and it's him, words tumbling out of his mouth all haphazard, _that's it_ and _sweet girl_ and _Karen, Karen, Karen_ , venting off pressure threatening to tear his chest apart, and suddenly he's all caught up, he needs to get his tongue on her as badly as she does.

She's already slick, spread around by her fingers, her clit's sweet and the right amount of tart like a flirty little slap to the kisser, enough to make a man's mouth water, _Karen, Karen, Karen_. He sucks and her body arcs, the sound she makes startled and pleading, fingers finding purchase in his hair, gripping until his scalp burns in just the greatest way. Then her hips start moving.

It's hesitant, like she wants to press hard and she's not letting herself, and he growls, gets a hand on her ass and hauls her into it. She gasps and bucks, goddamn _bucks_ , and then she's rolling against him, riding his face like she was born for it and he can just let himself go, lose himself in letting her have him, licking, sucking, grinding, groaning. It's blinding, pure bliss, and when she comes with a twisting cry he can feel her, taste her, pulsing on him like a sunburst, and when her legs finally give out he's got her, gathering her in, cradling her to him to let her shudders subside.

She's tucked her head into his chest, her arm's back around him again, clinging, fitting like she belongs there and there's some errant part of him he doesn't even know how to find, let alone stop, that's accepting that's because she does. He lets it go. That's damage for later, when he can track it down, isolate and destroy it, but right now he'll take the hit. All that matters, everything he's got, is for getting Karen through this, Karen, _Karen_.

Heart thumping, he kisses her forehead and just lets himself hold her. The feeling of her, in his arms, breathing. It's the two of them, it's just the two of them. It's quiet, calm. He's not thinking about what just happened, not thinking about the slippery heat of her, that now he will always know the way Karen tastes, the way she sounds when she orgasms. He's not thinking about the walls around them, or the voice that put them here. He's not thinking about the amount of shit this is going to leave either of them dealing with once they're out. He's not thinking about anything. He's just _here_ , with her. His arms around her, holding her, holding everything else out. Breathing. Holding her safe. If he can just keep them here, if he can just--

The sputtering hiss is already a sound out of nightmares, slamming him with reality, _greatest increase in potency_ , and the flinch of Karen in his arms which is a hundred times worse. It doesn't take much to urge her off him and he doesn't think about that, he can't, he's wasting time. Wasting that scrap of clarity that he'd--wasting it, whole minutes just indulging himself, holding her close, taking advantage of--

He wrenches his mind to the walls and starts searching, there has to be a way, there has to be _something_. He's been in his share of holding cells, on both sides of the equation, they fucking got _in_ here somehow, there _has_ to be an out. A common problem guys on the right side of the equation have is not thinking like the guy on the wrong side, they miss something a guy who's desperate enough won't. A weak spot, a way to plug up the doses, _fucking something_.

Except this one, this one hasn't missed a fucking thing. Frank's made two rounds and is starting the third, the walls are just _walls_ , he can't find a seam anywhere, the bulb hanging above them is just a bulb, and that crafty fucker, the little nozzles in the corners of the ceiling aren't hard to find because they're also the source of their airflow, so yeah, he could somehow get Karen up there on his shoulders and they could jam tiny pieces of that mattress in there and then they could go on and suffocate together.

He's staring at the wall, thinking about Karen's legs twined around him, and then he's punching it and it's just a wall and it doesn't make a fucking dent, all it does is send pain lancing up his arm like a hateful best friend, and he does it again. And again and--

" _Stop_! Frank, stop, stop it!" Her hands are around his bicep, tugging, as if that's going to make a difference, and then she ducks around and gets right in his face, and okay yeah, that makes _all_ the difference. "Stop! It! _Frank_!"

Karen's so angry, and it's not fair but she has to understand this, he has to _make_ her understand. "I'd have fucked you," he snaps. He has to shock her, the bald truth of it so that she gets it, what this is. "If my dick could've even twitched, if you'd so much as nodded, Karen--if you'd so much as said the word, to put myself inside you--" what is he saying, what is he _saying_ , this isn't--he was trying to warn her, not _beg_ her, and he chokes the words off before she can understand the difference.

She puts her hand over his torn knuckles, the sting and the sorrow in her eyes hitting him at the same time. "I know," she says, those tears that come so easy to her lining her look, and he can't understand a thing because she's lifting the back of his hand and pressing it to her cheek, turning her lips to it, over the jagged skin. "I know, Frank. I'm sorry. So sorry--"

"Why are you _apologizing_?" He wants to shake his hand loose and punch something again. He wants her to never let him go. And she's still going, talking right over him.

"--but I am _not_ letting you do this, so help me God, Frank, I am going to get you through this in as much of one piece as I can. That's not negotiable. I don't care. I don't care. And you can hate me for it, even, if--I don't care."

" _Hate_ you, what--"

"You're going to let me, Frank. _I don't care_. You're going to let me keep you safe."


	3. License, Registration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About time for bit of [the Boss](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nU5MyNuBdhg) as chapter title for Frank, yeah? (And for Karen, I can't find the full track so just a [taste](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qkCl98Seqg) of Jen Cloher's way more seductive version... ;p)

"Karen."

It's the only thing he can think to say, brain stupid and racing until it lands on completely the wrong thing and his hand's gesturing at the wall, the _other_ wall, confusion and suspicion and precious blood starting to defect south again. "So that--" comes out of his mouth a second before he can think better of it, a second before he knows no, _of course_ not, but Karen's already blushing scarlet.

Her eyes skitter over there before her chin lifts, mouth all screwed up with determination, looking him dead in the eye. "I can do better."

Frank does _not_ have the blood resupply for this. He barely has the vocal cords. "You...can..."

"I could!" Outraged pride is getting the better of her embarrassment, eyes now flashing, and until this moment he couldn't have told what in all this cocktail of Karen Page on a mission _to save him by sex_ was turning him on more, but no, it's that. He wants to laugh and he is, warmth simmering up under his ribs into his throat, and he wants to cup her face and he is, still laughing softly even though it's got her mouth once more opening to defend her honor as a sex vixen, her voice rising. "Just you wait, you, you...mister big-man Punisher! Think you're so impressive and scary? Oh, oh, you have _no idea_ \--"

" _Karen_ ," he's torn between laughing harder and kissing her again and he takes the middle road, putting his forehead to hers and closing his eyes, still shaking with it, " _stop_. Stop, Jesus Christ. Stop."

She does. For a few merciful seconds, but he can feel the uncertain jitter of her under his hands, quietly peeved when she concludes, "Well I _could_."

He opens his eyes, just an inch apart as he gazes at her face, at the way her eyes soften, the way the edges of her lips are slowly lifting until he can't take it anymore and the choice is easy. He kisses her, those lips, slow and chaste, feeling the unexplored hunger for her in his mouth...savoring it.

"Karen," he whispers there, her name against her lips, "Karen. Sweetheart. Any better than that--? And I might just never recover."

"Oh." It still has echoes of uncertainty, she's pulled back a little, studying his expression for the truth, the heat he doesn't try to hide. She bites her lips. "I--oh."

The flush of her skin travels further this time, dragging his eyes down with it, the rosy tips of her nipples pulling up tighter, _painfully_ tight--

He slams his eyes shut. It doesn't help. All it does is lodge the image in his mind and magnify the sense of her, quivering under his fingertips, the ragged edges of her breathing, moist air washing over his mouth, still vital and hot from deep inside her body.

His eyes fly open. "No," he chokes out, and it's all he can do to make himself say it, "no. Karen. You don't--you don't have to--"

She's gearing up again, so tenacious, so full of _caring_ and somehow it's the right thing, it does what his losing willpower couldn't. Makes him able to say, "Karen, wait, just. Wait. Let me--let me...just..."

And the thing of it is, she _does_. She calms for him, eyes searching over his, waiting like he asked, and he's beginning to wonder if this open trust of hers is endless, if he could ask anything of her and she'd just _look_ at him, just like this, meeting him right in the middle of it. Giving him...

"Please," he rasps, absolutely no pride but then he's never really had any, not with her, he's begged from the very first. He feels her hands rise, the squeeze as she slips them into the flex of his arms and grabs onto him right back. "I think--God, Karen." She's still so close, damn near eye-to-eye, standing proud. She's so beautiful. "I want..."

"Frank..."

She tries to close the distance, to kiss him, and he doesn't know how but he doesn't let her. "Just touch me," he gasps out, wildly. "Touch me, as long as you're...I think--if you can just--you keep me calm, or...calmer, anyway. I won't hit things, or...I'll be, be good, like you want. Promise. Cross my heart. You, if you're close, it's...it might be enough." He pulls in air all the way to the bottom of his lungs, and it helps, a fingernail's worth more control. He takes another breath. "It might be...and I can, I'll take care of the rest myself. When I have to."

It's her turn now, apparently--she's laughing, a slightly hysterical edge to it, and it'd be getting him nervous, but she's sliding her hands up, up his arms, and it--it _does_ make him calmer, a little. It's a life-vest in a hurricane, but he can do this, he'll--she's closing her fingers over his muscles in a way that makes him acutely conscious of himself, of what she's feeling of him, she's--

"Touch you, Frank? Just..." There's something mocking and wicked and still unbearably sweet, this sapphire-hard challenge in her eyes, he wants to eat her up. She's drawn her hands in, flat over his slamming heart, then up, it loosens his hold on her, his arms falling away defenselessly to accomodate her. "...touch...?"

He can only stare at her, utterly failing to comprehend any point she's trying to make. Or anything at all. His mind's a blank. Karen's hands are on him and she's rendered him completely helpless, it should be terrifying but instead he doesn't even _care_ because it's just--it's _Karen_. Karen, who is stroking her thumb back and forth and back and forth at the base of his throat, who is raising her eyebrows at him like she doesn't even know she's got him on the verge of arching into it and purring for her like a deranged pussy cat. "And you'll..."

He's--not following. She's running her eyes down between them, down his body as though that should mean something and he can't--the line of her eyebrows go higher, a jagged laugh, and then she looks up at him again. And it's--he's catching on but before he can make anything wake the hell up in his head and _get it_ , she goes even sweeter and warmer and _meaner_ , knocking it right out of him and bringing it home at the same time.

"What do I get to touch while you're taking care of it, Frank?"

His mouth drops open, useless. Karen's fingers are trailing downward, down, down, no sign of stopping, inches away from his dick before his hand snaps into action and catches her wrist.

There's no way she's gonna take that well but there's no help for it. If she touches him, that's it. He's done, he's over.

But Karen takes pity, doesn't push it. She just stands there, giving him the most _frustrated_ look, but he--"Please. Karen, please. I can't. I can't have you _do_ that--" The image of it hits him, all at once, being on her, cravenly letting her lie under him letting him fuck her.

Fifty cold showers couldn't have done a better job. He shudders, unable to look her in the eye, like the filth of it could get on her if he did. "Not..."

Karen's gone very still. That's all he knows, because he's found a spot on the floor and he's not taking his eyes off it, not for a second. A lot of them are ticking past. She's not saying anything, and she's not moving, or doing anything about her wrist in his grip. There's nothing he wants more than to look at her, and there's not a thing he wants less.

"I should slap you," she says, eventually, evenly. The words roll around his brain for a moment before they make sense and then his hand is springing open, releasing her.

It's her snort that finally makes him look up. "I'm not _going_ to," she explains like he's an idiot, which he appreciates because he's pretty sure he is and at least she's explaining _something_. "I just want you to know that I want to. And that I should."

Frank used to believe he had a pretty good instinct for reading people. And okay, he's since learned he had some _significant_ blindspots he could never have imagined, and would've had to be a paranoid nutcase to see coming--Curtis's assessment, but one Frank grudgingly half-accepted--but by and large, people aren't too much of a barrel of surprises, to him. What they'll do and why, he can usually get a handle on, has predicted enough more times to save his ass in the field than there's any point counting, so overall he tends to feel it'd proved out.

Karen, on the other hand, has never been as easy to read as it seems like she should. Which is something he can respect and one of the things he's always liked about her, especially the occasional total curveball she'll throw into the mix, just to keep him on his toes. And it isn't even as though he _needed_ the extra incentive to pay close attention after she introduced herself by shoving that picture of his family in his face. So he has, and by this point of their acquaintance he likes to think he's got _some_ kind of notion of what makes Karen Page tick, and maybe he even does, but fucked if it's helping him now.

"I...I didn't mean to...insult--" doesn't seem a like very good idea to say, but at least he knows it's a better one than to ask her _why_ she should slap him, and he doesn't have any others.

"Shut up, Frank."

"Yes ma'am." The reflexive words are there before he even realizes it, and the look she gives him...there's either not enough or too much there in it, but either way he can't read it for shit.

Then her eyes narrow. This part, he has no problem reading, it's all over her face. She's about to let him have it, and honestly it's a goddamn relief.

"I don't suppose you happen to recall a certain bombing incident a while ago? When you were going to _kill_ that--that poor boy in cold blood. For me. You remember?"

Frank does, although it's not the non-sequitur or the needling sarcasm he's having trouble with. Even for Karen's bleeding heart this is too much. "' _Poor boy_ '? That little shitstain, he--"

"For the rest of my life, Frank, that would have been on me! Every time I looked into the mirror, one more--There I was, begging you to do it a different way, the _right_ way--"

It's different. It is _fucking goddamn different_. "It was your _life_! And I didn't ask you to, to _participate_ \--"

"--You'd have put that on me! Without giving me any choice, that that kid--"

"--that _trained soldier_ who then infiltrated a heavily guarded building in order to gun you down--!"

"--in the name of keeping me safe--"

"In the _name_ of--?" He's so outraged he's yelling, his hands are on her shoulders and he doesn't even know when they got there, but she's already stopped. Simply looking at him, sad and soft, so tired of it suddenly that she just closes her eyes, her palms and then her forehead coming down to rest against his chest. She gives a small sigh he can't help but echo, his hands slipping further around her shoulders curled right into him, all his anger draining away as if it had never been.

"Here's what's going to happen," she says, indistinctly, then raises her head and steps back, going over to the thin mattress and gracefully down, long long legs already stretching out to the side. "I am going to be down here." She lies down futher, propping her head on her hand, flaxen spill of hair through her fingers and careless centerfold curves going on forever, looking up at him with unwavering command. "And you are going to come here and lie right next to me, because Frank, I am not chasing you bashing around in here for one more damn minute. And then, I'm going to tell you a story."

"A... _story_." He almost laughs. He can't say it's anything he could have expected, but now he can't think of a more _Karen_ proposal. She's lounging there, so provocative, so innocently earnest about her solution in this insane situation that in spite of everything, he feels his heart lightening. His grin is growing, except before he can tease her for it, her eyes on him go suddenly sharp.

" _And_ , just for...all of that," she waves around with vindictive inspiration, "while I do--I get to touch you. However I want. And you are going to lie there and take it."

The hiss of aerosol injecting into the room is very loud.


	4. But I Know This Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahaahhhhhhhhh, that went well.
> 
> Since Jen Cloher got slightly short shrift last chapter, this one's title is from her gorgeous song [Rain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2HNBvV7utcc).

" _Frank_."

"Ma'am." Her demand has jolted him loose, the want, the _need_ in him nearly a physical thing taking over his body, barreling through the hundreds of reasons not to like so much chaff. But then self-preservation has never come easy to him, it just works out to be one of those side-effects of getting out the other side. He obeys her so willingly that she laughs, throaty and wonderful, as he stretches out next to her.

"Oh, are you sure?" She's also outright taunting him. He's put himself flat on his back, baring all the vulnerable parts there _are_ on a man to her and she's taunting him about it, and on anyone else it'd be infuriating. But on her...

Frank hooks an arm behind his head and lets his slow, slow smile speak for itself.

"--You don't want to go curl up in the corner and _take care of_..."

Oh yeah, that's it. His smile deepens, gets that cocky bastard slant from a simpler time and wears it like the badge of honor it is. Considering he knows full well she is about to make a total fucking mess of him, he cannot afford to waste the small victory of making her words dry up and scatter like that.

He sure as shit isn't holding out hope for another. Karen's got him here, utterly at her mercy, and those big shy innocent eyes are for suckers, she's _ruthless_. And right now he's got her eyeing him like...like he's this brand new thing for her and she can hardly wait to try, lit up and greedy and heedless, fluttering out of her skin with Christmas-morning excitement over it.

Over _him_.

"Karen," he groans, low, somewhere way down deep inside. " _Touch me_."

Her eyes are so bright. He can't look away, nothing but that dizzying blue like the first time he fell into the sky...and then her fingertips, sliding along his cheek. Light as teasing but it's electric, alive, smacking him harder than the ground and he doesn't care, he doesn't care.

"Like that?" she whispers.

" _Yes_ ," he pants, craning for it, shameless for it. Her palm against his jaw, under, along his neck and he loses sight of her for a minute, this gentle fanning touch moving back up, tracing over his forehead, eyebrow, down his nose that's blunt as a sledgehammer and taken about as many hits with as much care as if his face were a porcelain doll's. It should be ridiculous, it _is_ ridiculous, but instead he's--he's starved for it, didn't _know_ how starved, dessicated desert slopes that long since stopped dreaming of monsoons beyond the walls of their horizon, nerves cracking open to drink down her caress. "Yes," he can hardly breathe around the words, "yes. Yes. _Anything_."

"Frank..."

The pad of Karen's thumb is a soft drag searching his lips, his words, and the sound of his name is almost as bewildered as he feels. His eyes open and she's there, right there above him, eyes tracing him with such wonder it's like another caress and he can't hide a thing, he doesn't know how.

All play has fallen away, she's become so intent on it, what she's doing to him, the pressure of her fingers drifting firm, responding to every shift and dragging breath his body's making, can't stop making, touching him and touching him and _touching_ him. She doesn't stop and he's losing all sense of time, even of place, of anything but the one reality of Karen's hand moving over him, following the lines of him, pouring her touch into his skin until he's lightheaded, swimming in it.

And still he needs more.

She doesn't stop.

She doesn't stop even once, not once, his eyes blinking open and closed in the long slow swirl and finding hers there for him every time, grounding him, this calm in the storm. Her strong slender fingers making paths of him like he's...like he's _real_ , like he hasn't been real in a long time, and every time, the calm seeping a little further, stealing through his breath, through his blood as though it would settle to his searing bones--

The _hisss_ kicks his eyes open, abrupt and still, just the lift and fall of his lungs as he stares up at her.

Karen's staring back, her hand halted at the hollow of his collarbone. She looks...she looks actually rattled, and it's pulling something to the surface, a focus for the here and now.

"You okay in there?" he asks, none too steadily himself, but with what half-smile he can scrounge together for her.

"Am _I_...?" She shakes her head, a glisten, those tears for the whole fallen world again. "Jesus, Frank." She looks away, her hand coming up over her mouth, a muffled, " _Christ_."

"Hey." He reaches up, running the back of his finger on the curve of her knuckle, coaxing. "Hey. It's okay. Just...been a while..."

It's the best he has, because he won't bullshit himself, it's not the dose--he can't explain how she just opens him up like she does when anyone else would run right off him, leave him stone. Sarah's kiss had felt like nothing, just his own sorrowful concern, but one fingernail against the back of Karen's hand and he's humming with it, zinging with it. She's still not looking at him, still hurting over the fucked up mess that passes for his soul and he loves her for it but it's not worth it. He nudges, lightly, gets her to look at him and smiles when she does, running the tip of his thumb along her pinkie.

"C'mon, Girl Friday. You were all set to give me a story. Talking a big game about touching the big bad Punisher however you wanted--what, you going chicken on me here...?"

It's inviting destruction beyond reckoning upon himself but then never let it be said he's not a hard charger. Her hand falls from her mouth and her mouth falls open. She knows exactly what he's doing and it's working anyway, and when she slaps his chest he's not surprised, he's laughing, and it makes her do it again. He catches her hand against him, against his chest rising and falling, and grins shamelessly. Karen's eyes go to slits.

"I love that movie," she says, her hand under his flexing, not a whole lot of that gentleness left as she kneads his chest and he doesn't care, she can make a scratching post of him if she wants, it's amazing.

"Figured you might," he murmurs, arching a little to press into it, holding her gaze. Half daring her, half showing her he's not going anywhere this time. There's still a residue of worry in her eyes and that does not work for him. "So come on, Page. 'Once upon a time...'"

The smile that flickers over her face is annoyed, amused...anxious, and this time not for him, but it does finally make something click in his head, another thing and another, connections in a little cascade shifting into place and fuck. He's a moron.

He opens his mouth to speak, but some instinct's got him just inhaling instead, Karen still holding him in the middle of it and he strokes her hand, closes his fingers around it, holding her too. He lifts it, watching her, brings it to his lips and kisses the center of her palm. Slow and easy, his thumb rubbing, and he keeps on doing it until he's really got her attention. Until her agitation--and the way it's shading to his deliberate contact with her right hand, joining her there, specifically--really starts to subside. Until she _sees_ him, and knows he's seeing her. Knows he's not looking away.

"Tell me, Karen," he says softly.

The pain in the little laugh she gives isn't for him but it's still shattering. His hand tightens on her but she shakes her head, the need to look away for a minute, pulling her hand back and he lets it go.

It doesn't go far, just lands on his ribs, tapping distractedly, and Frank waits. There's something about it, something absorbing in just the watching of her, strangely peaceful in spite of everything. Something so...familiar.

He can't place it until the tapping turns to little circles, still nervous but calmer, the line of Karen's profile, the slight frown while her fingers scrawl the rhythm of her thoughts against him. If she had a pen and his rib cage were a legal pad, they could have been back at that farce of a trial, and it's...maybe that's where it happened, where she'd got so far under his guard when he didn't even notice, sitting beside him day after day in the shit as if she would put herself between him and all the wide world coming for his blood.

He'd never so much as touched her, back then, no reason and never would have, never would have thought...never _had_ thought, and it hadn't even mattered. Day after day in steadfast formation, sinking quietly into his pores without a touch until he couldn't get her out, her faithfulness in his corner whether he liked it or not. It had been almost laughable at first, a girl guarding ginger snaps, but by the end of it...she'd stayed all night, at that dock, watching body after body, watching for him, burning brighter than the fire to draw his eye as he kept cover and brooded, as waiting for an opening to escape became staying for as long as she did, the dawn light in her hair. And then she'd just kept going, straight to Schoonover, still trying to drag Frank Castle out of the bloody, stinking, violent dark even after he was dead, refusing to leave her man behind.

_Semper_ fuckin' _fidelis_ , fucking _hell_.

Frank doesn't even think, he's got Karen's face, bringing her eyes to his and then down, he can't stop himself, fingers digging up into her hair as he kisses her, kisses her because she's _her_ , kisses her to pull her to him, out of that pit of thoughts, past, _fear_ that she lives in too deep. He doesn't want her _in_ there anymore, that lost night-black sadness, he can't stand it. "Tell me," a breath away from her lips, he can't keep the fierceness out of his voice, the pleading, grabbing up every last tracer-bright thread of hope and demand she'd ever tied right in the guts of him to pull him back into life and yanking right back at them, _goddamn_ it. "Come on, Page. _Tell me_."

"I shot a guy," she gasps and he growls, devouring it from her mouth, the words clawing up out her, that's it, that's it, _more_. "I shot a guy, I shot him, I hated him, I wanted him dead. I wanted him _dead_. I shot him. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to _kill_ him--"

She catches a breath like it's a surprise and then she _screams_ , drawing her long body up, his other arm hitching her waist fast as she unloads into him, fist slamming on him, a burst of rage he could live in forever. She runs out of air and just keeps going, hitting him with every aftershock and furious cry and he lies there and counts his lucky stars to take it, every bit until she's slumping, finally, her fist uncurling to clutch at him, a sob against his neck.


	5. It Conquered Quick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Awoo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7g_SWE90O8) indeed, Sofi Tukker!
> 
> (Oh come on. You didn't really think I'd waste that set-up, did you?)

"Karen?" He says it quietly, as quiet as she's gone for the last minute, his lips to her temple. She's not crying. Not moving, she's lying half on top of him, her face in his shoulder, breathing harsh. He slips fingers under the sprawl of her hair, heartstopping silky glory coiling over his throat, and lifts it back until he can get at her cheek. He strokes her there, only letting her hide so much. "Karen."

Her hand flattens on his chest where she'd struck him hard enough that he won't be surprised if she leaves bruises.

"Some story, huh?" she says, finally, not muffled enough to mask the revulsion in her voice, and Frank kind of wonders if she remembers who she's talking to.

"Mm," he agrees, as neutral as she needs, his fingers drifting back to her hair like lodestones. Watching her shining sleekness slip over his ugly callouses, catching and releasing and catching again. He goes back for more, combs deeper, and feels her lean just the tiniest bit into it. "Sure didn't bury the lede."

The disbelieving noise she makes is somewhere between a cough and a laugh and then she's cracking up into his neck, too shocked for real laughter, shocked at him, shocked at herself, but it's still a hell of a lot better. He nuzzles the top of her head, rumbling contentedly to feel the slow loosening of her body, delicate butterfly muscles under his right hand still looped around her back. The dip of her spine there does something fuzzy to his brain, this perfect sinuous rill flowing with the movement of her and smooth, so smooth, long lines lifting taut to pull her head up, because then she's kissing him.

He wastes an entire fucking second of Karen's lips on complete and total surprise, but she's ferocious on him, hot and angry and so hungry he feels it to the soles of his feet, and he doesn't waste a single second more. She's demanding, punishing like she'd break him open to get at him and he cinches her tight against him, he wants it all, he can't get enough. His other hand buries rough in her hair, but no rougher than her as she grips at the short strands at the back of his head and pulls his mouth harder into hers.

He groans and Karen _bites_ him, this close to breaking the skin of his lip, the lick she follows it up with not soothing so much as triumphant proof of what she's done, and oh, God, _more_. She's moving on him like a wet dream and there are little fucking _growls_ coming out of the back of her throat, finding a home resonating through his like he'd taught her how but he's pretty sure they've always been there, just waiting to be unleashed, and Frank's the luckiest fucking bastard who gets to be here and swallow them down now that they are.

She's taking his mouth like a blitz, no quarter asked or given or _wanted_ , his tongue pushing back to get into her, his own teeth against the plump pout of her lip and the vicious pixie laugh she gives him when he scrapes at them, sucks at them, berry-bright and infinitely sweet. There isn't calm enough in the _world_ for what she's doing to him, those endless minutes of her quieting touch evaporated like so much morning mist. And that's before she hitches higher--elbow jammed mercilessly in his diaphragm--and shoves a thigh between his, her wet pant into his mouth as she gets that hot swollen ache between her legs low on the ridge of his hip, and then, and then she _grinds_.

If Frank is ever of the mind to care, he'll say the desperate wheezing whine he makes is from her cheap shot with the elbow but he can't imagine caring about anything ever, ever again, just this deliberate rolling press of Karen's hips, holding on and riding him down the way waves own the shore to take her pleasure. He's straining, every damn flex of her ass and her shoulders surging right under his hand, her mouth on his as open and shameless as the drenched heat she's rubbing against him, on and on and _on_ and then...

She slows. She slows, she _stops_ , stops and sinks her head down beside his, stops and lets herself settle in the saddle with gentle pressure and the most erotic little laughing sigh in his ear, tantalizing and unsatisfied.

Frank nearly howls. No, no, _no_ , she's not _satisfied_ , she needs to come, he needs her to come, needs her to come and come and come for him until she's so saturated with pleasure and satisfaction she'll never be in need again. He's already moving but so is Karen, horny-quick, flicking his hand away from reaching for her, nothing but amusement for the blatant frustration on his face.

"Shshhsh..."--and she definitely got _that_ from him because she's teasing him with it and he's beginning to suspect he's being punished, now. "That goes there," she adds, guiding his left hand up towards his head. She waits until he's tucked it behind himself before she leans down and takes his mouth in one last biting kiss, humming with the lazy stretch she makes against his body, and oh yeah, he's _definitely_ being punished, and he can't even remember what for.

But she's still brazenly wet and hot against him and it seems like she's letting him keep his right hand on her back, and when she raises her head, eyes gleaming, he'll take it. _Anything_.

And when she rakes her fingers slowly down over his nipple, just enough nail to make him need more, he groans and she smiles, indecently innocent, and explains, "I haven't finished my story."

"W--what?"

Karen is kind, and as such, very kindly gives him a few seconds to process.

It's not enough.

"My...story..." She punctuates by grazing a finger down the middle of him, stopping short of his aching hard-on for what seems to be a very fascinating and thorough reconnaissance of his belly button. That's until she looks back up at him and honest-to-God _bats her fucking lashes_. "After all, I did talk that big game. About touching the big...bad..."

He can't breathe. He can't breathe and then the very tip of her fingernail is running down the underside of his jumping cock and the sound he makes isn't _human_.

And the sound she makes is _shhshshshsh_ , this gentle bend down to his ear, nestling there as that finger comes up to stroke his cheek, just waiting, for as long as it takes for his thundering breath to subside.

He's kind of, sort of, maybe almost there when the cold, hollowed-out _schc-ssc-scsssss-sc-s_ of the hiss makes Karen freeze. And then he feels it, right the way down, all that defiance and determination flowing through her like the pulling of a trigger. "You with me, Frank?" she breathes in his ear, and there's only one way to respond to something so exquisitely dangerous.

Frank locks his hand behind his head, tightens his other arm around her back, draws a hard breath, and takes it head-on. "'Once upon a time...'"

Karen's laugh sparkles through the air, gracing his gravel-rough attempt, making him feel like a million bucks. He's trying and failing to suppress the goofy fucking smile she's put on his face when she takes his chin between thumb and finger, wagging his face and he doesn't resist, can't resist anything, just for the delight in those glowing blue eyes. Then she rubs her thumb up over the curve of his lips and he opens them, captures the pad of it with his teeth...and when it seems this doesn't break the rules of her story-telling torture-Frank scheme, he curls his tongue around it and sucks it in, watches that blue flash star-hot.

She hisses in, soft, then draws her thumb out, slow, and brushes it back and forth over his lips, too light for him to get at, damp from his mouth. Smiling. Watching him burn. He should never, _ever_ have laughed, when she'd insisted she could do better.

Then Karen lifts that thumb to her own mouth and wraps her lips around it, sinks it in to the first knuckle, holding his eyes all the while. She cocks her head to the side and drags it back out, her dainty little smile distorted by the pull.

When she'd insisted she could do better, he should have lain down in total, unconditional surrender right there and then. What the _fuck_ had he been arguing about.

She's brought her thumb to his adam's apple, smearing wet around, then blows over it, watching the clench of his jaw and the shiver of his entire fucking body with wide-eyed girlish interest that doesn't fool him for a second, and if this is how he's going out, Frank knows a million worse ways but not a single better one to die.


	6. That Where I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's true, I am just _makin shit up_ now. I tried to stay plausible within the few outlines we've been given with Karen's backstory but I mean who the hell knows.
> 
> ALSO: It's Karen backstory. I tried not to go too heavy on it, but if you think that might contain things that might be a problem for you, consider this your **content warning**.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter title from on the [_True Blood_ soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfLawHP7lFY) (and an air-kiss to Jessica).

"Frank, do you know what happens in a good, respectable, God-fearing small town when you lose your virginity at 16?"

Karen has been investigating her way down to his hip--the unoccupied one--with painstaking eye for detail, badass journalist that she is, and has spent the last minute lazily scribbling copy on the thrumming skin of his pelvis. With the occasional detour to scratch lightly through his pubic hair, like just in case she's losing his attention span. She hasn't so much as brushed his dick again, even by accident. He doesn't know whether to be relieved or out of his mind with desperation, so, mostly he's been going slowly insane between both.

He notices that he hasn't responded to her when she does, her eyes flicking up to his, and so he makes the considerable effort to run the question through his head again. The pause has her hand skittering over his hipbone, a kind of steadying grip he doesn't know if she's even aware of, whether it's for him or for her, but it's enough to bring a scant few vital instincts of his back online. He looks closer, the subtle displacement in her focus, in her question, and it's the anchor he needs, the anchor of _her_ , once more pulling him around, fixing strength and direction within the roaring tide. Frank nearly sighs for it, grateful beyond words, grabs hold and steers in.

Then he raises an eyebrow, because she's still looking at him, some reaction she's half-expecting, even though it had sounded pretty damn rhetorical to him. And also no, he doesn't really know. Not the small town thing, anyway.

"You...waiting for me to judge, or something?"

Karen's head goes to the side, following the lead in his tone, curiosity tugging at her lips. "How old were you?"

"Me? Good Catholic boy, of an upstanding city parish?" Frank shakes his head, grinning deplorably. "14."

"Oh really?" He's gotten her to smile too, relax some, and she holds her head a bit higher against the next statement. "Well, in Fagan Corners, word gets around."

He winces for her, hunch confirmed. He watches the lines flicker between her eyebrows, wanting to lean up and kiss them away, and has to settle for being her distraction as she brushes the backs of her fingers down the exposed inside of his thigh, as far as she can reach, and then all the way right...back...up, skirting his balls by less than an inch, fuck, _fuck_. The rattle his breath makes has her looking back up at him, eyes sharper, prouder.

" _Especially_ when you refuse to feel guilty and won't _repent of your sins_. See, that gets you a little bit of attention you might kind of like..."--oh he is _definitely_ going to have to ask her about all the things going on in _that_ smile, sometime when, _if_ , his brain ever works again, she's taking the same path again only this time dragging ditches into his muscle with her fingertips until his body kicks down with it, reflex-taut, the sound of her surprised, exultant sigh consuming his entire world for a second before she takes pity. She starts massaging up, soothing, and then to the outside line of his leg, waiting to let him get his breath back for a bit, before she picks up the thread again--"...to go with the whole...whole _shitload_ of attention you really don't."

Then Karen's fingers stop. Her mouth flattens, an awful, awful line stabbing cold right through the haze she's been stirring up. She looks at him, then away.

"Todd was among the latter."

_Todd_. Frank already fucking hates him. Not to mention the whole of Fagan Fucking Corners, wherever that is.

But what he says, around the pure anger trying to close up his throat, is, "Douche name."

That blade-thin line of Karen's lips eases by a little quiver. Her glance is almost _wary_ , probing, and what she sees makes the quiver grow, loosen into something nearly bearable. Enough that he doesn't have to do anything immediately drastic about how it is that she's only just now getting that Frank's _on her side_ because somehow, _somehow_ , she didn't already know that--not about this. Not about _this_.

"Douche guy," she responds, feeling it out, a lightness that Frank has helped give her, and it's enough. For now.

When her mouth does pull down again, it's not as bad as it was. Not that ingrained assumption that she's out there  _alone_  on this one. "So then he started picking on my little brother."

She stops, at that, and gives a strange look over her shoulder and Frank realizes his forefinger is twitching against her back. He stills it with an effort, and then starts stroking instead, because that is a _much_ better use of his hand against her naked skin, and her pause, her little sigh, is all the incentive he could need.

Karen shakes her head, her eyes coming from too far away. "We weren't even in high school anymore. But _his_ little brother was, with Kevin, and it just...it didn't end. It felt like it would _never_ end."

She sounds so fragile. So easily crushed down by blunt, brutal, grubbing hands and Frank's has lifted right off her all by itself, it's shaking.

But before he can do or say anything else she makes a little noise, dropping her head down, arching up seeking more of his touch. He exhales unsteadily, and slowly starts sweeping up and down her whole back. He feels her snuggle right down against his squeezing chest. _Safe_.

He doesn't take his other hand from behind his head, doesn't reach for her in any way she hasn't allowed, but he can't keep from burying his face in her hair. Breathing it in.

She's scritching her fingers over his heart. Calmer again, back here with him again. Able to pick up her story again, instead of reliving it, holding ground even against the mortification trying to take over as she says,

"I never should have done it. Got in his truck? God, how stupid can you get?"

Frank has got his anchor, his mission, and that mission is, stroking Karen's back with every scrap of support and comfort he has in him to give, and so that is what he does. That is _all_ he does. That is all he is in this moment in this box with her, nothing else matters, and so that is all that he does. But in some remote back shelf in his mind there is now sitting a file marked:  Todd. Fagan Corners.

"But it's a small town, you know?" She shakes her head against him. "I never imagined...He offered me a lift. I thought, maybe, this was a chance. I could talk to him, get him to listen...I don't know. Get him to stop. Somehow."

Karen's hollow laugh is the most cynical thing he's ever heard come out of her. "Well, he listened. And then he told me sure, they would be nicer to Kevin. As long as I would be nice to _him_."

Frank is staring at the ceiling, jaw so tight it's hurting, and he hasn't noticed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing firm as if he could transfer all his strength there, until Karen reaches back and covers it with her own. Stroking his fingers, and then lifting her head, looking at his face for a moment before pressing a kiss to his jaw. When he can meet her eyes, the smile there is small but real, and when her fingers leave his to skim over his cheek, he's able to unclench, a little. Enough. For her.

"So I told him what I thought of him. Everything I thought of him." Anger is lacing her words now, picking up momentum, and it's better. It's so much better. "Apparently he didn't find it very _nice_. And he just...just _grabbed_ me. We were out in the middle of nowhere, I couldn't...I couldn't believe he'd actually _do_ that. I kept trying to push him away, somehow, but he just kept...he was just so strong."

The smirk she gives then comes out of nowhere and it's savage, so savage, and Frank's rarely seen anything so beautiful. "I guess he forgot about his gun in the glove box. It got banged open somehow, and there it was, lying there, like it was just being handed to me on a platter. You should have seen his face. Trying to get his fly down, and then..."

Karen looks Frank right in the eye, and he can't tell if it's a confession or not, can't tell if she's even sure what it is, anymore. "I didn't have to do it, Frank. I got out of the truck, I had his gun. He wasn't coming after me, I wasn't _afraid for my safety_. I could have walked. I was just..." She takes a deep breath. "So _angry_. And it felt...for just one second. It felt _so good_..."

Frank doesn't say a word. There's nothing _to_ say, nothing that changes any part of this.

"...And then--the second was over. I thought it was the most horrible thing I'd ever feel in my life. I...I got back in the truck. Drove him back, to the sheriff, and they got him to the hospital..."

She looks down at where her fingers have balled into a fist, and then all of a sudden she's off him, she's sitting up, back against the wall. Needing that strength of a vertical stance. He's followed like he's on strings, and he waits for a beat, to see if she'd done it to get space from him, too, but she only looks at him, then curls her knees until they're butting against his.

He offers his hand, palm up, and she takes it. Holds it hard, voice thin but unhesitating. However bitter, this part's delivering just the facts. "I had a split lip. A bruise on my cheek, and an egg on the side of my head the size of a quarter. My blouse was torn. So the sheriff decided to call it even. And I went from being the town slut to the crazy town slut who comes on to people and then shoots them."

In the silence that follows, the only thing Frank can think to do is twist his hand up and lace his fingers firmly through hers. Karen's head tilts, just looking at it for a few moments before she squeezes, slowly, a smile growing even slower, thumb rubbing up to his pinkie.

And then her eyes lift to his.

His cock twitches.

He doesn't even know why. It'd lost a _whole_ lot of interest during her story, and it occurs to him she actually _had_ succeeded in finding a damn fine boner-killer for their situation, but now...

He starts sweating, and wondering when's too early to begin panicking about _every single thing_ and then Karen very steadily, very deliberately, looking into his, yes, panicking eyes the entire way, brings their linked hands to the upper curve of her breast.

The back of his hand is resting between the dark-chocolate-drip mole on the pale satin of her cleavage--whole constellations strewn across achingly perfect skin he hasn't let himself even _think_ about--and her rose-petal nipple.

The back of his hand is _being held_ to satin between dark chocolate and rose just _begging_ for him to taste and this is--this is out and out cheating, this--making him--he doesn't know why he's not even surprised, but then he can't look away, he can't even think, can't even move, can't even make a half-inch bid in either direction in case he loses it all and he is a _shithead_.

"Do you know why I told you that story, Frank?"

Karen's voice is low and warm, full of something he doesn't even understand, so different from anything when she was _telling_ that story that he's able to jerk his head up to find her shining eyes. Not with tears, and he doesn't understand that, either, she'll cry for everyone on the fucking planet but not for this, no, for this she'll pull up her chin and look at him like...

"I told you so that you can really, really _know_ this about me: _I fuck who I choose_."

...like she'll tear the fucking planet _apart_.

He's on his knees dragging her into his lap and her legs go around him like a dream, lifting herself just right, hot wet and open on the head of his cock and somewhere there's some strange distant hiss and Karen pushes herself down.


	7. Gonna Pick Me Some And Take Me A Bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo--fade to black, right?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **KIDDING**
> 
> Chapter title from [Everlast](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1sr87QvTPg) because Fuckin' A, GET IT KAREN

"Frank-- _Frank_ \--"

She is arching. Panting his name as she bears down, fingernails digging crescents of fire into the backs of his shoulders, the urgent liquid give of her body, impossibly soft, impossibly tight around him. Sinking, her endless heat, and the bright berry-stain of her lips parting like she needs them open, as well, in order to fit him inside below and Frank's entire being needs just one thing.

He lifts, into her, controlling all his strength up to match her slow-rocking down--and watches Karen's mouth, falling wide open for him. Her lips, stretching, so sweetly obscene.

He does it again. Harder. Watches her head tip back, sucking jagged air down. The garish overhead light catching the flush of her cheeks, corona of her hair, again. _Again_. Eyes fluttering flame blue and her hips flexing down on him, consuming him, _harder_. A strangled sob against his strangled hush, watching the column of her neck swan back, every part of her open.

Watching her taking him in.

Take him in, take him all, until there's nothing left to take, _so tight_ , and she tilts forward, above him, a harsh joyous little gasp. Her eyes, elated, _radiant_ , falling on his upturned face, on his helpless awe and his blinding need sacred within curtains of gold...

And she gives him that sigh. That _sigh_ , that _fucking sigh_ that's going to haunt him the rest of his goddamn life, Karen on him aching and smiling and nowhere _near_ satisfied, and now her open, open mouth is breathing the tail end of that sigh into his, deep into his lungs, it's too late, it's in his blood, his cells, he'll _never_ get her out.

And all he can do is kiss her, plunge his frantic and desperate moan into the welcome of her mouth like the prayer of a dying man and she _groans_ to receive it, arms wrapping around his shoulders as if she could pull him in even more. She's moving, already, adjusting to him inside her with those ocean-wave hips, flowing salt-sweet and swallowing him whole. So _impatient_.

Frank drives up hard enough to dislodge her lips from his, gets a gasping little laugh in return so he does it again, she's maddening, she's everything, she's meeting him wild and easy, kissing him, his face, so tenderly--and then she hits him. A slap to the shoulder he barely feels but the sound is enough to make him look at her, startled, and then she's got his jaw in her hand, her eyes warm and exasperated and still _so_ impatient with him.

"You _tease_ ," Karen pants, fingers tightening, clawing and possessive and she kisses him again and again. "You fucking, _fucking_ tease. Oh my God. _Oh_ \--!"

\--He thrusts again, none too gently, hands on her ass and pulling her down into it until she's writhing, her clit trapped against him, the only protest he is currently capable of making because if she'll just keep moving and taking him and kissing him like this he'll blissfully forget everything else--but, how, _what_. How the _fuck_ is _he_ the tease?

It must be all over his face because Karen sees it and laughs, _really_ laughs, and oh fucking Christ, what that does to her around his cock. His arm lashes up, clutching the back of her neck, pulling her closer against him, the feel of it through her whole body and she curves even deeper to him like she needs it too, her mouth sliding down into his, sharing. She's wrapped herself completely around him, arms, legs--clasping-tight inner muscles, _fuck_ \--this gentle little sway on him, _enjoying_ him, that eager greediness bubbling up through her again only now he's buried inside her to feel it and he really _has_ forgotten. Anything, everything, until she groans, " _Just touch me_. Just _touch_ me? You bastard, you _bastard_."

Her nails rake, blows raining on him and they may as well be butterfly kisses she's so sweet, grasping at him, pushing and pulling at the solid braced mass of him and he thrusts again just because he knows she'll love it, that she _wants_ it, _Jesus_. She bares her teeth in a gleaming grin and then she's _biting_ him, the thick slab of his shoulder muscle, harder until he groans and thrusts because _he_ loves it, _needs_ it.

"All this, all this--" she bites on him again, a little further out, overlapping sparking stimuli and nails scoring down his spine, down his muscles working him up into her and he will _never_ get used to it, fuck, _more_ , thrusting and she doesn't stop, even with her litany of complaints, "--and just _touch_ , you _fucker_ , you tease, you bastard. Frank. _Uhnhh_ \--"

Frank has got her clit centered, just right and he wouldn't let her pull away even if she tried, deep inside with one arm locked around her waist and the other still up cupping the back of her neck, feeling her head throw back in his hold, the wash of her hair over his hands gripping her tight. He's still not quite lucid on how she can want him _that much_ but then her throat is bare to him, one, two, three of her moles daubed across like a lover's caress and he has to close his mouth on them, each one in turn, has to _fill_ his mouth with her and then has to bend her, back, until he can map that one over her heart, too, and then the perfect swell of her breast until he can have her nipple, have the clenching cry she makes when he tugs and sucks and okay. Okay yeah, he can maybe see it. But it's not like he's without grievances either.

"You _stopped_ ," he rasps against Karen's silken softness, and God he sounds gouged from bedrock it's from that far down. "You _stopped_ ," and it would help if he could come up with any other words because she's looking at him, dazed with each swirl of sensation he will _not_ stop urging through her, he'd have to stop breathing first. "You were--against me, going to come, you--"

He watches comprehension dawn, though not much less confusion, and yeah maybe it _is_ fruitcake-grade nuts to be so hung up on it but what about any of this has been sane and anyway _she's_ the one who--

"I wanted--you, you inside--when--"

Frank stops. Just for a second, and his breath too while he's at it, but he's too stunned, he can't help it. She's not teasing, nothing coy, just the simple, _obvious_ truth that Karen wanted--that much--to wait until she could come with him inside her.

_Wants_. That much.

It's a mere thought, that easy, to pick her up and lay her back, the untamed halo of her hair blazing out even brighter against the drab grey mattress and he wouldn't even have pulled out except now, _now_ he gets to slide himself back into all the incredible heat of her, looking down into her eyes, every inch of the way.

Karen's mouth parts around a high, whimpered moan, so much surrendered pleasure in such a small sound, everything he could give her and suddenly he knows exactly what to say.

He lowers his head, the strength in every heartbeat, every shred and fiber of himself coming together, so much love and this pure affection for this woman and he gets to run his nose along hers, gets to brush open lips to open lips, gets to smile with all the gentleness of sheathing himself to the hilt in her and murmur, "Like that?"

She's not far gone enough not to recognize her own words, not _nearly_ far gone enough not to hit him again, and much too far gone to keep in the provoked smile or the unbridled moan of, " _Yes_ \--tease, _tease_ ," and, yeah. Yeah, he can _definitely_ see it.

"You bet." It's a grin, a concession--and a promise, because he is just about _done_ with _teasing_.

And she takes one look at his narrowed eyes and near ignites with it, his firework girl, sparkling breathless excitement as she wriggles up against him, and Frank hadn't known until right this minute that it is even _possible_ for someone to have less idea of how to back down from anything than he does. "Ohhhh," she says, nodding and gleefully pleased with the dare she's issuing. " _Big talk_."

He's torn in about a hundred different ways how to answer _that_...and he's not torn at all. He just looks, down, over Karen's beloved face, committing every detail to memory already long since burned in, feeling the smile pulling the corners of his mouth up. Dazzled, besotted.

Determined.

Frank kisses her, because how could he not, this slow slick searching of her as she holds him inside, taking his time to memorize her in this new way. Until his lips know every contour of hers, would know her in the dark, would know her anywhere, until his tongue knows the taste of every breath and sigh and moan, until the needy little movements of her hips give him their rhythm to follow, to amplify back with his own, the simplest thing he's ever done.

For the first time since waking up in here with her, every last fragment of himself has aligned to a single function, clean and pure as battle, devoted to one thing only. This. Her. Rocking into her, this gently building pace of her body with his, one hand cupped at the back of her head and the other slipping under her waist, her hip, helping her up into his deeper thrusts, into her body's desires.

He's been paying attention--he has been paying _so much_ attention--and now every tiny gesture and sound she makes speaks to him, tells him what she wants, and he doesn't have to fight any part of himself to give it to her. The pleasure of that alone, the sheer relief of it, would be overwhelming, but he's got Karen's thigh rising around his flank, he's got her breasts lifting up to press against his chest, he's got her neck, behind her ear under his lips, he's got her spine under his hand arching with every slide of himself into her body, and he doesn't even notice. Only once, with the sound of the hiss in his ears and the brief flicker of awareness in Karen's eyes seeking his, but she's right on the verge of being ready for him and he doesn't even give it a thought.

He brings a little more power into it, lets the movement of his body begin to _drive_ hers, just enough more each time to give her no respite. She doesn't need any. She needs _him_ , needs what he can do for her, each clutch of her hand and pant of her breath and ripple around his cock coming harder, harsher, demands that he would give his body and soul to meet, and _can_.

She's so close, _so_ close, and her eyes open. Finding his, this miracle of her, gasping his name and _coming_ , convulsing up for him, abandoning herself to it, to him, in cries of pure pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a PSA, I can't believe how regularly I've been updating this and there was never a plan, but now with Holiday Nonsense and never enough time (or anything else), I'm really not sure how much I'm going to be able to get written for the next little while. Hopefully lots! Maybe nothing. This might be what has to tide us all over for a bit, so I did what I could ;)


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